


The Mage

by Miraculous_Maniacal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF!Stiles, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Slow Build, grumpy!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miraculous_Maniacal/pseuds/Miraculous_Maniacal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world of werewolves and kanimas, no one expected there to be such a thing as magic. I mean, it's logically impossible, right? That is, until a certain Stilinski accidentally launches a fire ball at a certain alpha’s head. They're both surprised to say the least. And then of course, bodies begin piling up, and the world goes to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Discovery of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm really quite obsessed with the idea of magic!Stiles and there are not enough of those out there, and so I decided to write my own. This is my first fan-fic in the fandom, so don't kill me if it totally sucks. But here we go, with grumpy!Derek and all. And later in the story there will be tattooed!Stiles, so here's a pic:

 

 

Chapter One:

_ A Discovery of Magic _

Surviving the last two years had been hard enough, and this year being his senior year, Stiles decided it was time to learn some self-defense. He had dealt with kanimas, werewolves, leprechauns, and even poltergeists without dying, but it always came with a cost. Unfortunately, unless he wanted to scare his dad even more by asking for lessons, he had to get the werewolves to help him. The sheriff had gotten slightly over-protective after he had found out about the supernatural scene in Beacon Hills. Only problem was, that they were in fact, werewolves with their own fun set of superpowers.

And so here he was, pulling up his Jeep in front of Derek Hale’s newly refinished house. He parked the car and got out, nervous about this idea for the first time. What if they hurt him? He knew they wouldn’t do it on purpose, but werewolf strength is pretty powerful, and the betas might not be able to control it.

As he walked up to the front porch, the door swung open and Derek Hale stood in the doorway. “Well,” he said gruffly, “Are you coming in, or are you just going to waste even more of my time standing around out there?”

Ignoring him, Stiles replied, “Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the pound today?” and then walked on past him. Derek growled, but Stiles could tell he was only annoyed, not mad yet. “So where is everyone?” he asked.

“Boyd and Erica went to the movies, and Isaac is at Scott’s house playing the newest Call of Duty, but I’m not supposed to tell you that.”

“Seriously! I told them they had to wait for me.” Derek shrugged, unperturbed by Stiles’ clear annoyance. “So who’s going to train me then?”

“Who do you think? The betas would tear you to shreds anyways. Now, let’s start.” And just like that, Derek had him pinned against the wall, “First lesson, be ready for anything.”

“Well next time just give me a warning and I’ll kick your furry little ass.”

“Sure you will,” and then he was on the floor, with Derek’s knee digging into his chest. It continued like that for about an hour before Stiles had had enough.

He got up off the ground taking Derek’s offered hand, and shoved him backwards. “What is the point of this? How am I learning anything?” He yelled, and shoved at Derek again. It was like slamming into a brick wall, the alpha didn’t move so much as an inch. And in a fit of rage, he remembered what Derek had just done to him, and he grabbed his arm, twisted it around and locked it behind him. Derek was trapped, and he was laughing.

“Well, obviously you learned something,” he said with a smirk.

“Ugh, you are so frustrating, I don’t know why I put up with it.”

“Because you want to learn, and like it or not, I’m the best teacher you’re going to get. I taught Boyd, Isaac and Erica, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes-“ he began, but was interrupted by Isaac stalking back in the house and slamming the door loudly behind him. “Isaac, did Scoot beat you again? You know it just takes practice, even you’ll whip his butt someday”

Isaac turned to glare at him, and then realized what he just said. Turning to Derek he said, “I thought I told you not to tell him, now he’s just gonna be a pain in our asses about it all the time.”

“Well, it’s not like Scott can keep his mouth closed anyways, so he would’ve found out sooner or later.” This was true, Scott was like an open book. The boy couldn’t lie to save his life, and after knowing each other for so long Stiles knew when Scott was keeping something from him.

“What’s going on here anyways, I heard you guys yelling from a mile away but I couldn’t make out what you were saying because Derek soundproofed the place.”

“And I bet you’re glad for that when Allison comes over, or when Boyd and Erica start going at it, so stop complaining.” Isaac’s ears turned red at this and his eyes shifted away from Derek. Stiles knew he was just giving him  a hard time, but he didn’t have to make him die of embarrassment either. 

“And you stop giving him such a hard time,” Stiles said, and realizing he still had Derek’s arm twisted, he pushed on it harder. There was a grunt from Derek before he pulled out of it and had whipped Stiles back around and shoved him down on the floor again. “Get up,” Derek said, and walked away.

“So are we done then?” Stiles asked as he walked away, hoping he could go home without acquiring even more bruises he’d have to explain to his dad. Sometimes he wished he was a werewolf just so he didn’t have to deal with the constant scrapes and bruises.

When he didn’t get an answer from Derek, he decided he’d just follow him. Going into the kitchen, Derek grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and tossed one to Stiles as well. He missed, of course, and it hit him in the chest. He grumbled a thanks as Derek chuckled. Seriously, the only time that man laughs is when someone else is in pain, and even then it’s not a full blown laugh. Derek had gotten a lot better since they first met him; being surrounded by people who he could trust and who trusted him probably helped. The responsibility of his alpha status did too. After Erica and Boyd started talking about leaving, Derek knew he had to try something else. And so two years later, he half smiled more, and got along with everyone including Scott. But Stiles and Derek, they still weren’t friends, they were just tolerable of each other. Even then, they were constantly at each other's throats.

“You need to work on focusing,” Derek started,” You’re lithe, quick, use that to your advantage. Today we did basic holds and stuff like that, tomorrow we’ll start working on hand to hand combat, though the best idea would still be to run if you can. You’re not going to be able to hold your own against a well trained hunter or werewolf, so call for help if you need it, one of the pack will be there.”

And in that moment, all of his doubts came rushing back to him. He had been right, he'd never be good enough for the rest of the pack. “What, you don’t think I could take down even a human hunter?”

“Stiles, that’s not what I said.”

“But It’s what you meant, right? You don’t think I can do this.”

“I never said that, stop putting words in my mouth!”

“Well then you stop being such a lame ass who doesn’t think I’m worth shit!” Mad now, he was done. Derek never did listen to him, and even if he was putting words in his mouth, it’s not like he’d never thought it before, Stiles knew he has.

Rage simmering, Derek was silent for a moment, and then he said, “I don’t think you’re worth shit, you help us a lot. But you help us with research and planning, just leave the main fighting to us.”

“So you don’t think I can do it.”

“I never said that Stiles! Stop being a dick and calm down for a second and listen to what I’m saying!”

“You know what, fuck you!”

Stiles knew Derek’s rule against profanity, he didn’t care about it most of the time, but keep it to a minimum, and definitely no ‘fuck’. But Stiles was pissed, and so he didn’t even care anymore. And so that’s how he found himself pushed up against the wall for probably the thousandth time that day. Only difference was, this time Derek’s eyes were flashing red.

“What did you just say?” He growled menacingly. If Stiles had been one of Derek’s betas, he would have submit by now, but he wasn’t and Derek needed to be reminded of that sometimes.

“ I said fuck you. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you and your fucking face.” And with that, Derek had it. He shook Stiles and roared, yelling loudly.

“This is my house, so stop it _now_ or get the heck out!” Derek let go then, and stepped back taking deep breaths as he did. The red faded from his eyes and he said after a lond period of quiet, "It was my mom's rule, okay? Could you just follow it please?"

Abashed, Stiles murmured a “yeah” and walked away. Just before he got to the door, Derek called out, “Stiles, I need your help with something.”

“Sure, what is it?” he replied, still mad but a little calmer now. If Derek was asking for his help and not demanding it, this was about something serious.

“I’ve been smelling something around the preserve, it smells like death warmed over and oranges, any chance you could help me finding it what it is?”

Smiling a little now he said, “Yeah, but I’m gonna need more than rotten orange and smelly to go on.”

“Okay, well, it left this behind.” And he holds up a small, leather bound book, covered in archaic symbols. Coming closer, Stiles could see that none of them were of this language, or for that matter none that he’d ever seen,  but they definitely meant something.

Taking the book from Derek, Stiles held it almost reverently in his hands and began flipping through it. “This is a grimoire,” he said amazed. “This has ages and ages of magical spell that were passed down from generation to generation. I’ve seen them before, but none quite like this.”

“And why’s that?” Derek asked.

“Because this one may actually be real. None of the spells in the other one made sense, but these do. Everything is connected, and in that way, anything can be manipulated.”

“But magic isn’t real.” Derek said, and when Stiles looked back up at him, he knew immediately that Derek knew his plan. “And just to make sure you don’t do anything idiotic, give me that back.”

“No, I want to look at it some more. As well as spells there’s some potions in here that I want to try. They don’t require magic, just a pinch of this and a pinch of that, and BAM, cure for wolfsbane.”

“No Stiles.” Derek said gruffly, advancing on him again. “This is a bad idea, you’re going to get yourself and others hurt.”

As Derek reached for the book, Stiles pulled it back, and shouted something he’d just read, “ _Emittam Ignem_!” And with that, a fireball about the size of a baseball shot out of his hand towards Derek’s face.


	2. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but the were finals this week, and ugh studying. But here it is, hope you like it!

Chapter Two:

_ Revelations _

            Derek reeled backwards from him, out of the way of the flames. He wasn’t quite fast enough though and Stiles could smell burning hair from where he was standing stunned. “What the hell was that,” he murmured to himself. Shocked and a little scared Stiles walked over to the spot on the wall opposite him where the fire had it. Scorched and black, it looked as though someone had taken a flamethrower to it. Again.

            And on that thought, Stiles turned to look over at Derek. The alpha, all powerful and scared of nothing, was staring at Stiles with a look of absolute horror on his face. It hurt that Derek was scared of him, but he could understand why. Stiles had just launched a fireball at his head in the same place that his family had burnt to death. Combined with the smell of burning hair that still hung in the air, it was enough to force Derek on an unwanted trip down memory lane.

            Walking up to him, he reached a hand out and went to place it on his shoulder, but Derek shied away. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what the hell that was,” Stiles said.

            “Just leave, please,” Derek replied, and Stiles could tell he needed to be alone. At this point, Isaac had found his way back downstairs. With his werewolf senses, he could probably smell the fire and the fear coming off Derek. Isaac looked scared as well, which Stiles thought was because he looked up to Derek so much as an example as what he should be. When the man who is supposed to be fearless becomes afraid, something is wrong.

            “Okay, Isaac why don’t you come with me?” Stiles asked.

            “Um sure, yeah, where are we going?” Isaac asked, cautiously. He had finally noticed the burned wall and was looking at Stiles suspiciously.

            “We’re going to see Deaton, because I have no idea what just happened and he may know.” Hopefully he does, Stiles thought, because he had no idea what to do if Deaton didn’t know what was up with him. With a nod of his head, Isaac walked out to Stiles’ jeep as he quickly grabbed his stuff and left with another mumbled, “sorry” and then he was gone as well, and Derek was alone in his family’s house that smelled of fire.

            Out in the jeep Isaac was bursting with questions. He had the sense though to keep them to himself until they were out of Derek’s range of hearing. After they had left the preserve though, Stiles knew he’d have to explain himself.

            “So what was that back there?” Isaac asked. “I have never seen Derek scared, and he was scared shitless by you. You, Stiles goddamn Stilinski, who no offense is the least scary person in our pack.”

            Stiles shook his head, pondering how he could begin. “Derek gave me this book, a grimoire, filled with spells and such, and told me to look at it for him. He was gonna take it back, and so I read one of the incantations in it. I shot a ball of fire out of my hand, and I bet you can imagine why that would scare Derek so much. I mean, fire and Derek don’t really get along, and so we’re going to see Deaton because hopefully he’ll have some answers.” Isaac was silent for a moment, and then pulled out his phone.

            Curious, Stiles asked, “What are you doing?”

            “I’m texting Erica and Boyd. If anyone can calm Derek down it’s them.” And with that, Isaac tuned him out. Stiles could see him typing rapidly on his phone. Soon a couple of text messages came in not only to Isaac but to Stiles as well, and he knew Isaac told Scott, who in turn had told every freaking person they knew. Typical Scott, you’ve got to love him.

            What seemed like an hour later, they were pulling up in front of the clinic. Hoping beyond hope that Deaton was there, Stiles got out of the Jeep and walked up to the door. Trying it, the door opened and Stiles walked in. Deaton was standing there waiting, of course. He just smiled and led Stiles and Isaac back into one of his operating rooms. Stiles dropped the grimoire onto the operating table and looked up at Deaton.

            “Well that is old, isn’t it? And powerful.”

            “Vague as always, perfect,” Isaac said, and turned away. But Stiles was too curious to leave. Deaton knew what this book was, so maybe he knew more about how Stiles had cast a spell too.

            “Deaton, would it work? Is it possible to use magic?”

            “Well yes, isn’t it obvious?” Deaton replied incredulously, because yes magic is apparently the most normal thing in the world now. “Your best friend is a werewolf, another is a bean sidhe, and you don’t believe in magic. Mountain ash is most definitely magic, and just because you’re not a darach doesn’t mean you can’t use it too.”

            “Well then what the hell am I? Because I thought I was human, but humans can’t do these kinds of things. _Humans_ cannot shoot fire out of their hands!”

            Stiles was pissed, Deaton hadn’t answered any of his questions yet, and he was freaking out. He liked being the human one very much thank you. Even without the super strength or the crazy archery skills, he liked who he was just fine. Stiles was the brains of the operation. Everyone knew that, even if Derek refused to admit it. And now some freakish book was messing with all of that.

Fire. It surrounded him. In and out he ran. Trying to save them. Failing. It was in this very spot that his family had burnt to death, his world to ashes, his heart to dust. Laura had finally had to pull him out, and he clutched her crying, “This is my fault, all mine,” over and over again. She didn’t understand of course, no one did. No one knew what he had done then. He thinks that Peter figured it out while he was on his revenge trip, but he had never said anything to Derek. The way he had killed Kate though, so maliciously, and then looked at Derek as if  making sure there was no remorse for that monster. It was like he had been trying to figure out if Derek still loved her. He didn’t, not after what she did. Because he’d accidentally helped her do it.

            And so now he stood there, the guilt and sadness and fear all rushing back to him and reminding him what he did. Turning around, he saw the scorched wall. He walked up to it and wiped his hand across the mark. It came away covered with black. Wiping it on his pants, he remembered his hair for the first time. Reaching up, he ran his hand through his hair. “Dammit,” he muttered, and walked to a mirror. He’d have to almost buzz it so you wouldn’t notice the burnt or missing hair. God, he’d look as ridiculous as Stiles used to.

            Stiles. How had he done it? How had he managed to use magic? Jennifer was the only one he had ever heard of using magic successfully, and that had been some really dark stuff. He hadn’t even known it was real, and yet somehow he had done it. Does that mean he has a natural talent, or that he lied about not knowing magic? Stiles was hiding something from him, he knew that much. And yet, Derek still trusted him with his life. They had saved each other countless times, and it had built a bridge of trust between them, but it had its gaps, and Derek had no idea what to do about that. Stiles was pack, and pack needs to trust each other.

            Derek decides then that he needs to find out what really is going on. He’s just about to walk out the door when Erica and Boyd come in. Erica rushes over to him right away, asking if he’s okay. After brushing off her inquiries at his mental health, because apparently no one thinks that he’s entirely sane, he notices for a second the burnt wall. A shiver goes through him. No, he is not okay.

            Erica sees this, and begins herding him out the door. “I know it’s bringing back some bad memories, so why don’t we just take off, get a drink maybe.” Derek starts to growl, but Boyd is smiling, and it takes Derek a second to get that it’s a joke.

            Giving her a hard stare anyways, “One, you guys are minors, and I am not getting in trouble for supplying your booze. And two, you cannot get drunk, the downsides of being a werewolf. It seems like I have this same discussion with Stiles every time some one’s birthday rolls around.” His breath hitched when he said Stiles’ name, and Boyd looks at him strangely.

            “You sure you’re okay Derek? Stiles did almost burn you alive in this place.”

“Always the brusque one, Boyd. Thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” Boyd says with a smile, and Derek can’t help but feel a little better. He may have lost one family to fire here, but this just proves that he’s gotten a new one.

“Now,” Derek said, “Let’s go see what the hell is going on.”

“Okay so let me get this straight. My mother, who I thought died of cancer, but apparently it was some bitch witch’s revenge, was a Shaman?”

“Yes.”                                                             

“And so I inherited the spark or whatever, and now I’m what a shaman as well?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean sort of?”

“ I mean, that she saw a shaman, and you inherited the spark from her. I never said you were a shaman as well.”

At that point, Stiles was done. They’d been there for almost an hour, and Deaton hadn’t given him a straight answer yet. Because apparently, he wasn’t asking the right questions. Throwing his hands up in frustration, Stiles yelled, “So what am I?”

Calm as ever in the face of Stiles’ not so terrifying anger, Deaton replied simply, “A mage.”

“A mage? As in boom you’re a frog sorta mage?”

“It’s a little like that, but as a mage, there is less healing and farseeing involved than with a shaman. More attack and defense spells along with wards and runes.” Finally, Stiles thought, something that makes sense. Even if it doesn’t. He’ll just google it when he gets home. “As a mage, you can draw power from yourself and others. _Regulus Magus_ can pull energy from their surroundings and cast without incantations as well, but so far I don’t believe you are one of those. High or Prince Mages as they can also be called are very rare, maybe one for every ten thousand mages.” Or maybe he will just ask Deaton, he seems to know a lot.

“So are you a mage then?” Stiles asked, curious as always.

“No,” Deaton replies laughing, “I’m an emissary, but your mom taught me all about mages in case you inherited the spark.”

“So Stiles could kick our asses now?” Isaac asked jokingly, but Deaton just gives him a hard stare and nods. God that guy is creepy sometimes.

It was still weird to think that his mom was involved in all of this. But at the same time it made him feel better about keeping his dad in the dark about the supernatural side of Beacon Hills. Unfortunately, his dad found out anyway, but if his mom had done it too then it wasn’t wrong, right? To be true, Stiles wasn’t sure how well he knew his mom anymore.

“She also left this for you if you did inherit the spark,” Deaton said, interrupting his thoughts. He was holding out a wooden box with intricate carvings all over it. “These are basic symbols of magic and protection, they keep anyone except for the person who’s name is carved into the inside from opening the box. And wait until you get home to open it.”

When he went to grab the box, Deaton pulled it back, giving him a knowing look. “I promise I’ll wait, okay?” With a nod, Deaton handed him the box. Good luck with not opening it though. Stiles’ curiosity was peaked. What was so special inside this box that he had to wait to open it?

“And here is this,” Deaton said. Now he was holding out a large book. Blood red and covered in black runes, Stiles knew that this must be another grimoire. “This is your bloodline’s history, spells and potions and such. It was your mother’s and now it is yours.”

Slightly awed at the importance that this book must hold to him, Stiles takes it from Deaton and places it on top of the table next to the box. Stiles is just about to ask Deaton another question when Derek, Erica, and Boyd walk in. He looks over at Derek and sees a slight glimpse of his earlier fear glaze over his face for a moment, but Derek is the alpha, so he pushes it aside and walks up to Deaton. Commanding as always, he asks him, “So what is he?”

“He’s a mage.”

“So he is magical and this wasn’t Stiles just being more of an idiot than usual? And how did we not know this earlier anyways?”

Sighing, probably because he’d reached his limit for being helpful for the day, Deaton told Derek everything he’d just told Stiles, and then said, “And we didn’t know because Stiles doesn’t speak Latin or Ancient Greek. How is he supposed to cast spells if he doesn’t know the languages needed?” Derek just growls at this and his eyebrows become even more judgmental.

“I’ll just have to learn,” and with that, Stiles leaves. He needs some time to deal with all of this alone. To process what it means that he can use magic now. Derek stares after him bewildered, but stays and continues to question Deaton. To tell the truth, he’s a little happy that Stiles is gone.

When he gets home, Stiles locks himself up in his bedroom. Thankfully his dad isn’t home, because telling him first about werewolves and now there’s magic? Nope not gonna happen. After a car ride of agony, Stiles flops down onto his bed holding the still closed box. Slowly he opens the lid. Carved inside of it is his name, his real name, in the Grecian spelling. _Γενναδιος  Στιλινσκι._ Because of course his mom just couldn’t write “Stiles Stilinski”. As crazy as it looks, his name wasn’t that hard to say. Something like “Yemmaviersh” even though it was spelled Gennadius in English. He searched it once after she told him it meant something special, and turns out it means noble and generous. She knew him well. How many times had he gotten in trouble or gotten hurt helping his friends? Way too many, that’s for sure.

After getting over the surprise for seeing his real name for what may be the first time in years, Stiles began to look at what was inside the box. Lined with black velvet, the box contained five stones, all with runes carved into them; a medallion, with yet another rune on it; a knife that looked like it was pure silver; charcoal, a couple sticks of it; and two envelopes, one opened and ancient, the other closed and new. He pulled out the new envelope first. On the back of it, he saw his mother’s swirling handwriting staring back at him. He opened it  up slowly, scared what he would find. Inside it said:

_“My dearest son,_

_If you are reading this, it means I am not here for you today, on the day of a new beginning. You have inherited a great and terrible gift, one that will pull you into a terrifying new world. Knowing you though, I believe you will have found it on your own by now. As you have inherited the spark, you could become one of many things. Shamans, mages, witches, casters and wizards are all real, and all very different. Which one you become will be determined by who you become. As a shaman, I focused on healing and far-seeing, or getting glimpses of the possible futures, and helped the Hale pack as a second emissary almost. You, Stiles will not be a shaman, as you are far more adventurous already than one has right to be. I would also not be surprised if you turned out to become a wizard or a mage, both of which are very rare and very powerful. Be careful in whatever you become as there are limitations. Remember, help other and do what is right. And for the love of God, save Derek from himself. Losing the Hale Pack was not his fault._

_My love and wishes to you,_

_Mom”_

Tears in his eyes, Stiles set down his mother’s letter. She had to have known this would happen, she could see the future for one. He had always believed his mother was just perceptive, but this explained a lot. He thought back to happier times when he was a kid, and how she had always warned him off every stupid idea he had before it had fully developed. And what the hell did she mean by help Derek? Stiles got that Derek was still unnecessarily guilty about the fire, but why did Stiles have to help him? Why not his pack?

            Putting those thoughts aside for now, Stiles got out the other letter. This one was on parchment, with a broken wax seal, and Stiles could tell it was ancient just by looking at it. Opening it, Stiles saw that it was a page from a letter from one of his ancestors apparently, and had not only a welcome to magic sorta blurb, but a weird pentagram on it as well. By each corner of the star was located one of the runes on the stones, labeled fire, earth, water, air, and blood. In the center was the rune from the medallion labeled spirit. Instead of lines connecting the points of the star, words were written in Latin and Greek.

            Picking up the stones and the medallions, Stiles examined them for a minute before moving on. The charcoal had a use, but he had no idea what, so he skipped over it and picked up the knife. Running his fingers over the blade, he could tell it was sharp. Slicing his finger a little, Stiles yelped, and quickly set the knife down, but not before he saw the slight glow where his blood was on the knife. Creepy. Must be related to blood magic somehow, he thought, but just thinking about having to cut himself for a spell made him cringe. A little scared now, Stiles put the knife back into the box with the rest of the stuff and shut it. He hid the box under his bed. Predictable, he knew, but it was good enough for now.

            Walking back over to his desk, Stiles grabbed his mother’s grimoire and started flipping through it. Most of the spells were for healing and protection, but he could see some for attack too. Putting that one aside, he picked up the grimoire that Derek had given him. Looking in this one, Stiles could see that the magic in this one was a lot darker, involving blood and offerings; one even needed sacrifices. Stiles looked at that one closer, noticing after a second that it seemed very familiar. Oh shit, he thought, and dropped the book. This was _Jennifer’s!_ This was the exact same ritual she had used to become strong enough to kill Deucalion. Where did Derek get this?


End file.
